


Hot Banana Guy

by JacquelineHyde



Series: Fire Emblem! Retail! [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, More specifically grocery store au, yup this one's silly and fluffy too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquelineHyde/pseuds/JacquelineHyde
Summary: "Even though the thought of seeing his favourite customer more often doesn't entirely reconcile him to the knowledge that he'll most likely be effectively living at the store for the next four months, Alfonse has to admit that it helps." In which Alfonse accidentally gets promoted and makes a new friend. Also, oranges.





	Hot Banana Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Argh, why am I always so nervous when I start posting things in a new fandom? Anyway, it looks like, once again, my entire contribution to this fandom is going to be fluff and silliness. Also, I apologize for removing and reposting this story in the wee hours of the morning. I sort of posted it in a half-awake state, realized that the ending was abrupt like running into a wall, couldn't edit it where I was, and was reluctant to leave it up for the hours until I got home. Sooooooooo, it's now slightly more finished, and I like it a lot better. Yay!

When Alfonse arrives for his shift just in time to see the assistant produce manager rage-quit in a truly spectacular fashion, he starts to think that this may not be the best day ever.

Sure, he gets that Brandon has been under a lot of stress since the manager went on medical leave – two days ago – but did he really _have_ to flip the citrus table on his way out?

“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job...” Alfonse chants under his breath as he hurriedly collects the assorted citrus fruits scattered to the furthest corners of their small store, politely thanking each customer who stops him to helpfully inform him that there are oranges all over the floor.

“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job!” he yelps frantically, flailing through the department to write and send the daily order that Brandon had left unfinished, in the four and half minutes before the cut-off.

“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job,” he groans into the surface of the desk in the perishables office as the irritating sinus pain and slight headache he woke up with this morning grows and mutates into full-body just-been-hit-by-a-bus aches and the sensation that someone's shoved a flaming cactus up his nose.

“I love my job, I love my job,” he growls through clenched teeth after Anna – hair and shirt damp with what looks like...watermelon juice? - pulls him aside to let him know that there are no plans to hire a new manager or assistant, because what's the point when Jill will be back in four months, and he's holding things together just fine in the meantime?

“I LOVE MY JOB!” he screams into his apron, balled up and shoved over his face, in the solace of the produce cooler when he gets back onto the sales floor to find out that the cash manager has sent home the only other produce clerk on the schedule today because she didn't feel that Sam was working very hard and wanted to teach him a lesson by cutting his hours – oh, and also, the lettuce is empty, and the parsley looks a little wilted, so he should change that out right away, and can Produce spare anyone to help bag groceries up front this afternoon?

Tragically, yet predictably, the stress relief of screaming in rage is immediately and violently overshadowed by the miserable, chest-rattling, body-wracking coughing fit that it triggers.

“I love my job,” he whispers with all of the intensity he can muster.

It's around eleven when a familiar voice calls for him, and he turns from the display of grapes he's attempting not to sneeze and cough all over.

“I love my job,” he solemnly informs Sharena.

“Um, okay.” She takes another look at him, and frowns. “Oh my God, Al, you look terrible! That sick-stick came down hard, didn't it? What are you still _doing_ here?”

“Being the entire produce department,” he grumbles, trying to stretch the pervasive ache out of his back and shoulders.

“Anna can't make you stay if you're this sick,” his sister insists flatly. “I mean, if nothing else, she probably doesn't want you to infect the whole store.”

“Yeah, we had that conversation already. She said I shouldn't be at work like this, and I should have known better than to come in, but then in the same breath, she asked me to stay until seven tonight because _someone_ in a totally different department took it upon herself to save the store some hours by sending our closer home.”

“And she couldn't call in someone else?”

“There literally _is_ no one else! Jill's out for at least four months, Dave's on vacation until next week, Tony's already at forty-four hours, Dolores sent Sam home because he apparently couldn't do any work until I got back downstairs to show him where the carrots are again, and Brandon quit this morning!”

“Yeah, I heard about that!” Sharena leans in closer and lowers her voice. “So what the heck happened? Did he really break a whole bunch of stuff and leave?”

“Ugh, the grocery store rumour mill,” Alfonse scoffs, rolling his eyes. “He didn't break a _bunch_ of stuff, he just flipped the citrus table, and I think he threw a watermelon at Anna. But yes, he left, and I don't think he's coming back.”

“He threw a _watermelon_ at _Anna_?!” Sharena repeats, aghast.

“Well, she was covered in watermelon juice when I saw her this morning. He probably threw it at the wall, and it just splashed all over her when it broke.”

“He'd better _not_ come back if he doesn't want to die! So why did he leave?”

“I don't know. I didn't start until eight, so I got here just in time to see him stomping out. But I think he was angry that Anna hired him to be Jill's assistant, and then expected him to be in charge while Jill went for surgery. I don't know what he thought produce assistant managers _do_ , if not _assist_ in _managing_ the _produce_ department, but he told me yesterday he was totally blindsided by the expectations.”

“Anna said she's not looking to replace him. Does that mean she's going to promote you?”

“She sure as hell _better_ not!” Alfonse exclaims vehemently, wincing and waving apologetically as a lady happening by with her buggy jumps, startled by this outburst.

“But she said you're going to handle the department until Jill's back, so you might as well get a raise out of it!”

Fondly, he pats the top of her head.

“It's adorable that you think Anna would hand out a raise during the post-Christmas sales slump.”

“You could at least ask her, Al.”

“I don't _want_ a promotion, though.”

“But...you're going to be doing the manager stuff anyway.”

“Yeah, but if I'm just a clerk, she can't actually _make_ me work past the end of my shifts, or come in on my days off. At least,” he sighs hopelessly, “until she specifically asks me to and I fold like an accordion.”

Sharena squeezes his shoulder sympathetically.

“Hey, look on the bright side. If you're here twenty-four-seven, you'll see more of Hot Banana Guy!”

He shoots her a disapproving look, even as his cheeks grow warm and his stomach flutters just a tiny bit.

Hot Banana Guy - and he would like the record to show that the name was _entirely_ Sharena's devising - has been a regular for a few months now, coming in almost every day for the _perfect_ bunch of bananas, not too green, but not too ripe, and more often than not it falls to Alfonse to help him find exactly what he needs. Sharena grins and waggles her eyebrows at him from behind the bakery counter every time, and he knows that she (and as a result, a good half of the bakery) thinks that Hot Banana Guy is coming in specifically to see him. Much as he loves her for her skewed notion of what allure his pasty, quiet, socially awkward self could offer to someone who looks like a male model, he's pretty sure it's just that he's here either five or six days a week, which makes it a matter of probability.

On a good day, Alfonse considers Hot Banana Guy a very polite, gracious customer who also just happens to be the most physically beautiful human being ever to grace the store, even including Xander the Improbably Gorgeous Meat Manager, and his unfairly adorable sister Elise who works with Sharena in the bakery.

On days like this, the chance of briefly interacting with Hot Banana Guy seems like the _only_ compelling reason to come to work instead of seeing what kind of income he can pull in reciting beat poetry on a street corner.

It's not just that the man is beautiful, although, yes, _obviously_. He's tall, tan, has amazing eyes, a great smile, thick muscled arms and broad shoulders that kind of make Alfonse want to lick something, and a tendency to wear his shirts snug and unbuttoned at the top.

He's also unfailingly nice; often, while he's waiting for Alfonse to finish up with another customer, he'll help the little old ladies who tend to frequent the store during late morning and early afternoon by fetching things for them from the higher shelves. He's even carried their groceries up to the till for them a time or two, and helped a lost child up to customer service to page for the frantic mother.

Even though the thought of seeing Hot Banana Guy more often doesn't _entirely_ reconcile him to the knowledge that he'll most likely be effectively living at the store for the next four months, Alfonse has to admit that it helps.

“Yeah, yeah, get to work, you brat,” he grumbles, playfully shoving a giggling Sharena in the direction of her department.

It's a short while later, while he's elbow-deep in culled product, when Anna calls to tell him he has five minutes to finish what he's doing, and then he needs to get his ass to the coffee bar to meet the new produce hire.

“I thought you said you weren't hiring anyone,” he grouses into the phone.

“I said I wasn't hiring a new assistant manager,” she points out. “Look, just pop some cold meds, grab a cup of coffee, and meet us in five.”

“I'll be right there.”

He is not, in fact, right there. Between the back room and the coffee bar, he's stopped by three different customers, resulting in a magical journey down every isle of the store to find the elusive canned okra/pumpkin spice Oreos/gluten free lasagna noodles. On the bright side, he finds a few more oranges that he missed this morning.

On the down side, by the time he gets to the coffee bar – without coffee _or_ medication, dammit – Anna is visibly impatient, and the new hire visibly uncomfortable.

As he approaches the table, he notices that the new hire is also _gorgeous –_ and very familiar.

“Hot Banana Guy?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Alfonse feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that out loud! Not that thinking it is okay, but I didn't mean anything gross by it, I swear. I just meant that you're the hot guy who buys bananas all the time, and oh my _God_ , Anna, why have you not beaten me to death with a chair yet?”

“Huh. Well, Zacharias, I wanted to introduce you two, since Alfonse is going to be training you, but I guess you've already met,” Anna notes dryly. “Alfonse, Zacharias came in to interview for a position in the meat department, but he said he's willing to go wherever we need him.”

“That's very kind of you, but if you aren't comfortable working with me, after...” Alfonse waves his hand vaguely to encompass his boundless shame. “ _...that_ , I completely understand.”

Hot Banana Guy's eyebrows, meanwhile, have nearly vanished into his hairline, but the way his lips are twitching sort of looks like he's trying really hard not to smile.

“Don't worry about it, I've been called worse.”

“If you want, you can give me a really stupid nickname too,” Alfonse offers with a weak smile.

“I have a few suggestions,” Anna mutters under her breath. “Well, Zacharias, thank-you for coming in today, and welcome to the team. We'll see you Thursday.”

“I look forward to it,” Zacharias says, standing and reaching for a handshake. “Thank-you.”

The store manager moves to leave, then turns back and bops Alfonse on the head with the papers she's carrying.

“You really do look like crap, kid. What did you do, wrestle a zombie on the way in this morning?”

“Thanks, Anna,” he mutters, wondering vaguely if two hours is enough time to wait for more medication, and also if alcohol might count as medication.

“Look, just stay until the order gets here, shove it in the cooler, and go home and rest. Tony doesn't mind some overtime, so he can cover tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Anna!” he says again, far more genuinely.

“And for God's sake, take a lunch break! With actual food; don't just drink coffee!”

“Sure, boss,” he agrees with a cheerful wave. Once she's out of earshot, he turns to Zacharias. “I'm probably just going to drink coffee. Oh! Would you like a coffee before you head out?”

“No thanks. But I will join you for lunch, if you don't mind?”

“Of course I don't mind!” Alfonse exclaims so fervently that more than one customer looks at him oddly. “Please do!”

His new co-worker laughs softly.

“I'll just go grab some food.”

“Okay, I'm going to go grab a coffee. And some food,” he adds quickly as Zacharias eyes him disapprovingly.

By the time Zacharias comes back, Alfonse has acquired and is whispering sweet nothings to his heavily sugared cup of coffee, the banana he grabbed at the last second lying neglected on the table in front of him, and jumps as a little covered paper bowl and three packets of crackers, appear in front of him.

He blinks up at the taller man.

“What's this?”

“Chicken noodle,” Zacharias replies sternly, taking the seat across from him and opening a ham sandwich. “You're not going to shake the zombie apocalypse death plague with coffee, and I'd rather not be trained by the walking dead.”

Suddenly extremely conscious of the contagions he's been spreading all day, Alfonse looks away and carefully covers his mouth with his hand.

“Sorry, I didn't--”

“I like you a lot,” Zacharias continues with a tiny grin, “but not enough to let you eat my brains.”

For a long moment, the ability to make words come out of his mouth deserts Alfonse entirely, leaving him with only a kind of stunned squeaking noise, and he's taken back to the first time this guy came into the store.

“Thank-you for the soup,” he finally mumbles, crumbling up a packet of crackers into the bowl, mostly to give him an excuse to look away. “Oh! Would you like my banana?”

“Ah, no thanks. I don't really like bananas.” Zacharias casts him a mischievous look. “But don't tell the Hot Banana Guy online fanclub; they'd be devastated.”

Alfonse makes a noise embarrassingly close to a giggle.

“Well, as the president of the Hot Banana Guy Online Fanclub, I can assure you that they'll be okay.”

“I will take that coffee, though. Here, I'll trade you for my orange juice.”

Alfonse hesitates, and then picks up his coffee and cradles it protectively.

“I thought you didn't want coffee.”

“Changed my mind. You'll thank me in an hour, when you're not working with a cold _and_ a caffeine crash.” Zacharias gently tugs the coffee out of Alfonse's hand and tucks a bottle of orange juice in its place. Taking a sip from the paper cup, he makes a face. “You do like your sugar, don't you?”

“Well, yeah,” Alfonse shrugs defensively. “ _You_ probably drink it black as the endless void of space or something.”

“No, I take cream and sugar, I just usually put a little bit of coffee in there, too, for flavour.”

“That's just _weird_ ,” Alfonse snickers. “So, is it okay if I ask why you buy so many bananas, if you don't like them? Do you live with Curious George, or make a lot of smoothies, or something?”

Zacharias looks amused.

“I like how smoothies were your second guess, after the cartoon monkey.”

“You never know,” Alfonse shrugs again.

“It's because my little sister moved in with me not long ago. I hate to see her skip meals, but it's an ordeal to get her to eat breakfast. The only thing she'll touch before noon is fresh banana bread, so I try to have some on hand at all times.”

Nearly bowled over by this amazing person across from him, Alfonse is pretty sure that his eyes are growing wide and starry.

“You bake for your little sister every day? That's so sweet! But please, never mention that to _my little_ sister; I'm pretty sure she'll try to trade me in.”

Zacharias leans slightly to the side, eyes fixed on something behind Alfonse's head.

“Would your little sister by any chance be the blonde girl in the bakery grinning at us?”

Alfonse glances over his shoulder, and sticks his tongue out at his sister when she starts waggling her eyebrows and shaping her hands into a heart.

“Yeah, that's Sharena. She can be a little much to take when Anna lets her play with the espresso machine and drink the practice shots, but she's pretty amazing.”

 "So is her brother," Zacharias says with a smile so soft and fond that Alfonse feels oddly like his inside are melting.

Unless that's just post-nasal drip. Also, gross. 

As he gazes across the table at his new co-worker – friend – he can nearly feel the little cartoon hearts popping into existence and dancing around his head.

_I love my job._


End file.
